


Moonlight Sonata

by TheTartWitch



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Allen is a bartender, Lavi is a waiter, Lenalee is a waitress, Songfic- Love The Way You Lie (Rihanna), They are not exorcists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allen sings a familiar song to the exorcists seated at the back of the bar. The Earl is surprisingly vulnerable. Mana is forgiven and let go. The moonlit dance begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Sonata

He stares out at the crowd, feeling the first low thrum of the song the Boss wants him to sing filtering through the wooden planks of the stage beneath him. It’s a good one today, not one of those shitty romantic ballads.

The group before him swells, recognizing the tune and egging him on. He doesn’t even look at them; his eyes are too focused on the man who’s trapped him here to play favor to the audience today.

And he begins.

-*-

_On the first page of our story,_

_The future seemed so bright._

_But the saint turned out so evil,_

_I don’t know why I’m still surprised._

-*-

He can see the eyes, wide and forever gleeful, staring unblinkingly at him from the shelters of the curtain off-stage. He realizes there must be an exorcist in the throng; otherwise he wouldn’t even be here. It’s a depressing thought, that he wasn’t even worth enough thought to occupy the thing’s mind from time to time, and that if it weren’t for the Earl’s enemies, he’d be here alone, stuck in a never-ending loop of hate, death, and pain, with small snippets of happiness in there, shining like the sun.

He turns back to the group, and resolves not to stop for the rest of the song.

-*-

_Even angels have their wicked schemes,_

_And you take that to new extremes,_

_But you’ll always be my hero,_

_Even though you’ve lost your mind._

-*-

His eyes catch on a group of four men sitting at the back of the bar, farthest from him. He doesn’t know what it is, but he instantly begins to sing to them, like there’s no one else there but them and him. He enjoys it, feeling the Earl’s eyes narrow as much as they can at his sudden influx of enthusiasm. He starts to smile.

-*-

_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?_

_Well, that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts._

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry?_

_Well, that’s alright, because I love the way you lie._

_I love the way you lie…_

-*-

He trails off, feeling the gaze sharpen from the four men. And he knows they’ve felt it. The truths he’s singing, the presence of the inhuman monster standing so close, close enough to touch if he dared. He doesn’t; he can’t. He doesn’t want to die just yet. Not without Lavi and Lenalee.

-*-

_Now there’s gravel in our voices,_

_Glasses shattered from the fight._

_In this tug-of-war you always win,_

_Even when I’m right._

_‘Cause you feed me fables from your hand,_

_With violent words, and empty threats;_

_And it’s sick that all these battles_

_Are what keeps me satisfied._

-*-

He’s screaming it out, forcing it into their ears and down their throats: _help me, I know you can. Save me. He’s right there!_

But they don’t hear. He keeps going.

-*-

_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?_

_Well, that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts._

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry?_

_Well, that’s alright, because I love the way you lie._

_I love the way you lie…_

-*-

Wait! Is that…a flicker? In one of the men’s eyes? They’re sitting up straighter, one motioning towards him with a frown and a jerking head. They’re taking his warning; noticing how one hand, positioned so only they can see, is pointing off stage, directly at the Earl. Because he noticed; he saw the small silver crosses and black uniform coats, and he knew they were Exorcists, tracking innocence and the Earl, who stands not forty feet away.

-*-

_So maybe I’m a masochist;_

_I try to run, but I don’t want to ever leave._

_‘Til the wars are going up_

_In smoke with all our memories._

_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?_

_Well, that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts._

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry?_

_Well, that’s alright, because I love the way you lie._

_I love the way you lie…_

_I love the way you lie…_

-*-

He lets himself be grabbed by the Earl’s large hand and dragged through the air, up off the ground and into the crushing grip of the Earl’s hands around his throat like a vice. He’s smiling when he sees Lenalee leap onto the stage and kick the Earl in the back of the head. Lavi, pressed and fresh in his bartender’s uniform, is swinging the hammer in delicate, precise circles about his head like a baton twirler.

The exorcists are charging them, noticing all of this: Lavi’s hammer, Lena’s boots, Allen’s arm that has become a sword running the Earl through.

“Good night, Mana,” Allen croons, and the smile that crosses his face is bloodthirsty and cruel. Mana smiles back, and he’s still smiling when the Earl fades into dust and ash and the exorcists are gaping, open-mouthed.

He escapes out the window with Lena and Lavi on his heels, grinning jauntily at the ladies on the street below. “Good night, Moon.”

-*-


End file.
